


a different kind of sating

by exarite



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hannibal Extended Universe, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Omega Galahad (King Arthur 2004), Omega Tristan (King Arthur 2004), Omega/Omega, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 14:36:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20311129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/pseuds/exarite
Summary: It's hardly a secret that Galahad was interested in Tristan. That much was blatantly obvious from how the Omega resorted to ridiculous seduction tactics, even if Tristan wanted to pretend it was just a silly little game.But Tristan was keeping a secret of his own.





	a different kind of sating

**Author's Note:**

> oh god i've been trying to finish this for MONTHS

"Ridiculous." Tristan scowled. He shook his head and looked away, furiously hacking at his apple.

"Please," Galahad growled. He lifted his leg and stepped on the lowest bleacher, his eyebrows raised accusingly. That damned skirt slid over Galahad's bare thighs, revealing the strong cut of them, and Tristan tore his eyes away. Galahad rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Elaborate, Tristan."

"It's snowing," Tristan replied flatly, motioning with his knife towards the field, covered in a fine layer of snow, "and you're still wearing a skirt."

"I'm not cold," Galahad insisted, straightening up his shoulders and raising his chin. "I run hot."

He reached out to grab Tristan's hand and brought it promptly to his thigh, just under his skirt. Too stunned to react, Tristan gaped, his fingers warm where it touched the smooth skin of Galahad's thigh. They twitched, and without conscious intent, Tristan's wrist brushed over Galahad's leg, marking the Omega with a mild version of his scent, the blockers too effective to do anything more than that.

Galahad smirked down at him, unbothered. His pupils were dilated as he tilted his head, goading, and said, "See? Warm."

Tristan coughed and took his hand away, cradling it to his chest before he rubbed his beard, his face and neck warm. "Brat," he grunted. _ Tease_.

Galahad only laughed and adjusted his skirt, the flutter of it sending that delicious mix of Galahad's and his scent up into the air.

Galahad sat down beside him. He raised one leg up to the bench and rested his elbow on his knee, his head on his chin. Tristan resolutely did not look down.

"Indecent," he grunted. "Everyone can see."

"Who?" Galahad scoffed. He lifted his head and made an exaggerated motion outwards. "We're the only ones here."

Tristan's lips thinned. He didn't bother gracing Galahad with a reply, even when Galahad scooted closer towards him. When Galahad leaned closer though, the sweet scent of him strong when Tristan inhaled, Tristan's hands abruptly stopped over the apple he was cutting.

Tristan looked up and raised an eyebrow, affecting indifference even as his nostrils flared. There was barely any distance between them, and he could see up close the red of Galahad's lips, the way Galahad narrowed his clear eyes. Tristan kept his breathing shallow, his whole body thrumming with tension already from just the few whiffs he was getting.

"Can I have some?" Galahad asked, nodding down at the apple. It was almost polite.

Tristan's jaw worked silently, part frustration, part resignation. He cut off an apple piece and then made to hand it to Galahad.

Galahad leaned in and took it with his mouth, teeth flashing white before he pulled away. He gave Tristan a challenging smile, smug and preening, and Tristan barely resisted from rolling his eyes.

"Tristan! Galahad!"

They looked up and at the sight of their teammates, Galahad hastily put his leg down, finally—_ thankfully _ adjusting his skirt so it covered up his thighs, putting away all that skin that Tristan had been trying so hard not to stare at. The scent of him lessened, and Tristan could finally breathe.

"Gawain!" Galahad cheered. He turned his back on Tristan without even a second look and jogged towards his friend.

Lance sidled up beside him, stepping up into the bleachers to sit down. Tristan didn't look up, even when Lance politely coughed. "Give the kid a bone, Tristan. He's been flirting with you for ages and you've been so cold."

Tristan scoffed. He hacked off another slice of the apple, the motion abrupt. "It's a mere competition—it always is with Galahad. It means nothing to him." He did _ not _ sound bitter. "I won't play his games."

"Sure," Lance grunted. "If you say so."

He knew it meant nothing. He could hardly give Galahad what he wanted, after all, and not when he was an Omega as well.

*

If possible, Galahad's skirt seemed even shorter today.

They usually at least reached his knees, or was an inch off it, more or less, but today, the skirt he had on… It was a miniskirt. That was the only word for it.

It was one thing to see Galahad trouncing around in summer with his skirts, and another thing to see him doing it in this weather. He couldn't wrap his mind around the idiocy of going out with bare legs, in the middle of fucking winter. It was _ freezing_, and Tristan himself was bundled up in a thick hoodie, with layers upon layers underneath.

Galahad was walking ahead of him, an exaggerated sway to his hips that Tristan knew was fake. Even then, he couldn't quite look away. No one else could either, the oily looks directed at Galahad enough to make Tristan's teeth grit.

"Oops," Galahad said loudly as he dropped his textbook. Tristan caught the peek over the shoulder that Galahad sent him before the younger man bent down, sticking his ass out. Some Alphas around them straightened up in interest, and if Tristan looked, he knew he'd be able to get a peek—

Tristan tore his gaze away. He shook his head and kept walking, ignoring Galahad's muffled cry of frustration.

*

**Galahad**: What looks better?

Then he sent two pictures, right after the other, and Tristan almost dropped his phone.

**Tristan**: Am I not, 'the last person you'd go to for fashion advice'?

**Galahad**: Just answer.

Tristan looked at the pictures again, and he knew that it was simple goading, Galahad playing with him once more, but he couldn't help his reaction. The first picture had Galahad in something he normally wore, a longer, knee-length skirt with slits at the side. The second one was cut short, high on his thighs, and Tristan knew he wasn't imagining the look on Galahad's face. It promised nothing good.

**Tristan**: First. 

**Galahad**: You're no fun.

He wasn't even surprised when Galahad showed up to the frat party with the second skirt on. As usual, Galahad had no scent blockers on, the scent of him clear and sweet and tempting. He looked seemingly oblivious to the leers directed his way, the scent of aroused Alphas around him. Tristan knew better. He made sure to stay beside Galahad, brooding and glum, keen eyes ever watchful. 

Anytime an Alpha looked at Galahad with intent in their eyes, Tristan only needed to meet their gazes and narrow his eyes before they looked away. He didn't even need to bare his teeth. It didn't just deter them; it happened to please Galahad too, his smug preening barely dimming, the Omegan purr in his chest loud enough to be heard over the deep bass.

Even when Tristan trounced him solidly in beer pong, Galahad whined only a bit and asked, as always, "How did you do that?" as Tristan's ball sunk into the last cup, clean, not even hitting the rim of the red solo cup.

Tristan shrugged, his shoulders lax. "Aim for the center."

Galahad snorted. "I know some other center you should be aiming for," he said suggestively, and Tristan's teeth grit tight. He chose not to acknowledge it, pretended he hadn't even heard it, and he had to ignore the dejected slump of Galahad's shoulders, the twist of disappointment on his lips. He had needed to ignore a lot the past few weeks, mostly Galahad's little stunts and attempts at seduction. Once more was nothing.

He bid goodbye only a few minutes later.

He knew he wasn't imagining Galahad's dark eyes, the way they followed him as he left. Yet, as always, Tristan couldn't entertain it. He wouldn't. He had to hold on to the barest scraps of dignity that he managed to retain.

It was all he had left.

*

The thwack of an arrow hitting the target sounded into the air, and then immediately after, a low curse.

"You can do better than that."

"Oh, shut up." The glare Galahad sent him was akin to acid. There was a defensive hunch to his shoulders, even as he turned his back on Tristan. "It was one bad shot."

"You've had quite a few bad shots today."

"It's a bad day then," Galahad snapped. He looked over his shoulder, and the way the sun shined on him… Tristan's chest tightened. He just barely resisted from grasping at it, to anchor himself to the present. The anger, the taunt in Galahad's features, none of it detracted from how fine they were.

"Either way," Galahad continued curtly, "it's none of your business."

Tristan made a low sound of frustration. There was plenty he could say in response to that, but instead, he merely ducked his head.

"Nothing to say now?" Galahad taunted. He gave Tristan a mean, smug smile before he turned away and hitched another arrow, his eyes narrowed as he aimed down at the target.

Tristan bared his teeth, his jaw tight and eyes dark. His only saving grace was that Galahad wasn't looking at him, so focused was he on the target. Tristan exhaled. Voice deliberately even, he said, "Nothing I say matters to you."

The arrow went wide, completely missing the target, and Galahad whirled around to face him.

He looked furious, a ferocious snarl ready on his lips, tiny fangs bared. His eyes were blazing, and Tristan felt as if he was being burned.

"Nothing you say matters to me," Galahad echoed, disbelieving. He tilted his head, his bow at his side. Even feet away, Tristan could see the paleness of his knuckles from how tight he gripped it.

Galahad threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a nice sound. Nothing like how Tristan remembered it to be when they were both younger when it was light and full of genuine happiness.

"God," Galahad snorted. He didn't throw his bow to the ground, but Tristan wouldn't put it past him. He'd broken enough glasses with his little temper tantrums. "Why do I even bother?"

All Tristan could do was watch as Galahad stomped towards his things and hurriedly packed them up. Arrows and his bow, neat and tidy, utterly unlike the mess of their friendship now. The scent of Galahad was soured with his anger.

"I'm leaving," Galahad declared. He tossed an imperious glare over his shoulder. "You can have the range to yourself."

*

"Galahad's angry at you."

Tristan looked up. His lips thinned at the sight of Gawain, even as Gawain shot him a small smile.

"Isn't he always?" Tristan asked, voice rough. Gawain raised his eyebrows and Tristan grunted, looking away as he crossed his arms.

"It's different this time," Gawain said.

Tristan tilted his head in reluctant acquiescence, closing his eyes. Gawain was right, even if Tristan didn't want to admit it. Galahad hadn't been messaging him recently, had turned on his heel every time he saw Tristan rather than continue with his silly, little game. He had even gone back to wearing his normal kilts rather than the miniskirts he had been sporting for a while now.

Tristan missed it, as much as he had been bothered by it while Galahad was playing with him. At least Galahad had paid him attention then.

"We have nothing to talk about," he said brusquely.

Gawain hummed, his lips pursed and one eyebrow raised. "If you weren't interested, you should have just told him outright. Galahad's a tenacious sort of Omega; you know he won't back down when he's got his sights on something."

"I thought I've made it plenty clear," Tristan muttered. 

"With the way you look at him?" Gawain laughed. "All it does is encourage him."

"I'm not interested in being another notch on his bedpost," Tristan said gruffly. "I'm not interested in playing his games." 

"His—his bedpost?" Gawain laughed again, but when Tristan didn't laugh with him, his laughter abruptly stopped. He gaped at Tristan. "How many people do you think Galahad's slept with?"

"With the number of people who look at him the way they do?" Tristan challenged, agitated despite himself. He almost bared his teeth, something heavy and acrid in the bottom of his gut. "I don't even want to think about the number."

"So because people look at him, you think Galahad actually cares?"

Tristan opened his mouth, but Gawain held up his hand, keeping him from replying. Gawain shook his head and gave him a rueful smile.

"Tristan…" he said slowly as if Tristan was an idiot. "Have you ever seen Galahad look at any of them back? Have you ever scented anyone else on him?"

Tristan faltered. His jaw tightened, mind whirling, and he clenched his fist against his thigh, bunching up the fabric of his pants.

"No," he said, reluctance dragging at his words, and Gawain smiled, rueful and with a sort of understanding that Tristan wanted to shy away from.

"He's only ever looked at _ you_. Don't you know what they call him on campus?"

"No," Tristan repeated. He didn't like listening to gossip, no matter who it was about, but Galahad was especially a sore spot.

"Galahad the Pure," Gawain shared, snickering. He clapped a hand on Tristan's shoulder and shook his head. "That's just the nicest one. They've called him Galahad the Prude, too, but I don't think either of you would appreciate it."

"That's not—" Tristan bit down on the rest of his words. He ran a hand through his hair and tucked it behind his ear, tugging at the braid he had left in it. "That means nothing," he said, but even he could hear the lack of conviction in his tone.

"All rumors have a basis," Gawain told him in amusement. "And I think this is one you might want to clarify with the source itself."

*

Tristan knocked on Galahad's door, shifting on his feet.

"Galahad!" he called out, voice rough and low. There was no answer.

Tristan knocked again, harder this time, his teeth gritted together, but still, Galahad didn't answer.

"Stubborn pup," Tristan muttered. He bent down and lifted the tiny, potted plant, picking up the key that was hidden underneath. He let himself in, closing the door behind him with a quiet snick.

"Tristan."

He turned at the call of his name and froze. Tristan could do nothing but stare, his gaze transfixed on the sight of bare legs, bare feet, the tempting swell of Galahad's thighs through the thin boxers he was wearing. It was worse than Galahad's little skirts, even the mini ones where Tristan's self-control had been most tempted.

It was the lack of intent, the way how, when Tristan dragged his gaze up to meet Galahad's eyes, all he saw was unguarded desire and longing before Galahad's features closed off.

Galahad reached down to adjust his boxers, pulling the ends down as to cover his thighs more, and Tristan's eyes flicked down and then back. Galahad's lips, red and full, thinned. "What are you doing here?"

Tristan took a step closer towards him just as the fan turned to his direction, blowing the scent of Galahad towards him. Tristan froze. His mouth fell open, and he inhaled, the sweetness of it making his chest warm, his pupils blowing out. There was a heaviness to it, a thickness that wasn't normally there in Galahad's scent

"You're in Heat," he said, surprised, but it certainly explained the flush on Galahad's cheeks, all the way down to the tops of his chest that peeked over his loose shirt. It did nothing for Tristan, any attraction he felt towards Galahad wasn't because of his scent, no biological imperative making it so. The only thing Galahad's Heat scent ignited in him was the urge to coddle, to keep him safe under the nest, a fierce drive to protect him from any unwanted Alpha.

"Yeah," Galahad grunted. His lips twisted into a scowl, and he raised an eyebrow. "I'm almost done, but you should leave since I disgust you so much."

"I've said nothing of the sort," Tristan snapped.

"You don't have to." Galahad bared his teeth. He reached beside him to pick up a heavy-looking blanket and draped it over his shoulders, shuddering underneath it. Tristan took a step forward without thinking, reaching out, and Galahad's head snapped up.

Galahad stared at him, eyes bright, lips parted, and Tristan swallowed down the ball in his throat.

"Just tell me now, Tristan," Galahad said, his voice low. The hurt in it made Tristan's own chest ache, and his lips thinned as his shoulders slumped. Galahad raised his chin, exposing the line of his neck. He said, "Do you want me or not?"

"I do," Tristan murmured, the confession practically torn out of him. His hand fell down at his side and he clenched his fists. "But Galahad—"

"But what?" Galahad asked scornfully. He strode towards Tristan, his eyes bright again, that fire in him stoked even higher from his fierce heat. "If you want me, then why don't you take me?" He bared his teeth and Tristan gazed at him silently. He did want. He wanted nothing more.

"I can't do anything for you," Tristan told him, and it hurt for him to admit. He had no knot, no Alpha pheromones to soothe Galahad at the peak of his heat, no famous Alpha stamina to see him through. His fingers flexed at his side, and he exhaled again. "Galahad…" he hesitated, gearing up to confess one of his deepest secrets, one he had taken great lengths to hide. Suppressants. Scent blockers. Everything possible to hide that—

"I'm an Omega," he said. Tristan held his breath, standing firm even as Galahad's face changed, even more ferocious, as he opened his mouth and said—

"I know!"

Tristan gapes. Galahad scowled at him in response, crossing his arms across his chest as he continued. "And? Why are you telling me this?"

"You knew?" Tristan echoed, stunned. He had thought that if he explained, Galahad would be deterred and stop with his silly little seductions. "Since when?"

"We've known each other since before you presented, Tristan." Galahad was quiet then. He said nothing more, but he didn't need to. The present flush on his features deepened, and Galahad wrapped his blanket even tighter around himself. "I remember your first Heat."

"Then…" Tristan trailed off. He was confused. He had thought that Galahad pursued him so fervently under a misguided flag, that Galahad had assumed him to be an Alpha on heavy suppressants and blockers, just as everyone else did. Or, a beta even, because Tristan had never confirmed or denied anyone's assumptions, and it was rude to ask.

"I'm _ gay _ ," Galahad said bluntly, glowering at him. "Damn it, Tristan, I thought _ you _ knew that."

Tristan ducked his head and shook it ruefully. He hadn't.

Galahad let a low, amused sound. And then he was turning his back on Tristan, and Tristan's chest ached, his mouth falling open to call Galahad back, to apologize, to plead for another chance but—

"You coming or not?"

*

They laid beside each other, just gently touching. Tristan's arm was slung over Galahad's waist, his eyes half-lidded as he inhaled the sweet scent of Galahad's Heat. It made him feel warm, too, made him want to hold Galahad even tighter, stroke him, keep him comfortable.

"This helps, you know," Galahad murmured. His own eyes were closed, his breathing even. He had said earlier that the next spike of his Heat wasn't due for a bit yet. "There are studies that Omegas help just as much, maybe even more than an Alpha, during another Omega's Heat."

When Galahad opened his eyes, Tristan met them steadily. Galahad smiled at him, drowsy and lax, and he reached up to touch the facial tattoos over Tristan's cheek. "You help," he continued, and Tristan sighed, absolutely contented just to lean into his touch and press a kiss on his palm.

"Omegas can't sate another Omega's Heat," Tristan couldn't help but say, and Galahad rolled his eyes. He pinched Tristan's ear.

"It's a different kind of sating," Galahad told him. "Not sexual. Not platonic, that isn't the right word either. What I feel for you is the farthest thing from platonic." He snorted. "But fellow Omegas make it easier."

Galahad leaned in and Tristan kissed him, letting himself enjoy it in a way that he hadn't let himself enjoy Galahad's touch and scent and affection. It was so easy to. It was the easiest in the world, and Tristan wondered how he resisted the younger Omega's advances for this long. He couldn't find it in himself to ever resist again.

"You can still fuck me, though," Galahad said, grinning as he pulled away. The flutter of his eyelashes was coy, entirely manufactured but not detracting from its appeal in any way. "I'd like you too."

"Whatever helps," Tristan replied, dropping his hand down to Galahad's hip to squeeze. He couldn't help but be amused. It was all amusing now, with the certainty that Galahad knew him, and wanted him just as they were.

"And for you?" Galahad asked, his eyebrows scrunching. "How about your Heat?"

"I prefer not to have them." Tristan shrugged, loose and easy. Galahad nodded in acquiescence. That was common enough. Galahad enjoyed the time off and the satisfaction that came from Heats, but he understood why a good portion of other Omegas didn't. 

They settled into a comfortable silence once more, just basking in each other's presence, both of them gentling and soothing each other. They were bathed in contented Omega scents, Tristan's not as strong but still there. It was nothing like the hot and heavy, messy, passionate, and animalistic Heats that came with being an Alpha, especially one in Rut, but it wasn't any less satisfying.

"I can feel it coming," Galahad abruptly broke the silence. They shifted, Galahad on his back, Tristan beside him propping himself up on an elbow. He gazed down at Galahad and touched him, helped him take off his shirt, ever gentle.

Galahad let out a low sigh, his eyes fluttering open. His pupils were blown, his lips parted, slick and shiny with spit. He pushed down his boxers and Tristan helped him with that too.

"I'll take care of you," Tristan promised, and the noise Galahad made was sweet and soft. The sweetest thing that Tristan had ever heard. He bent down and kissed the younger man, reaching down to touch Galahad where he needed it and swallowing up his gasp.

“I know you will."

**Author's Note:**

> happy summertime slick!!!!!!!!! i'm on twitter as _exarite hehe


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